They were medium in size. Their color odd. Burnt orange? (Husband 2.0, who helped craft this post, swears almost purplish plum.) By their oddity in hue, I knew them to be heirloom. Two of them Husband 2.0 brought in and placed upon our kitchen counter. It's late in the season. Very, very late. And, due to Nashville's 1,000-year flood, the South's red juicy jewel of fruit also came in late this summer. Our favorite farmer's crop was drowned in the overflow of muddy river water. What we did garnish of our favorite Bradley breed were split skinned and smallish.
We've almost had a competition, covetous at times, over tomatoes this summer in our house. The mother-in-law would bring in specimens from Kroger and Husband 2.0 and I, food snobs that were are, would glare at them with disdain, realizing once again, our desperate attempts to convey the concepts of organic, sustainable and local had failed.
Come late September, you can stand in the yard and look at those green tomatoes on the vine, hoping and praying they'll muster a touch of pink before that first frost, when deep down inside, you just know. You just know it ain't going to happen. The last tomatoes on a vine never turn red, and rarely do they turn pink. Another sign of a bountiful summer of tomatoes coming to an end.
To love a tomato is to be Southern. Sometimes we stretch the season of tomatoes by eating them green. But, green tomatoes? Whether you batter and fry 'em or use sweet spices to pickle them, or just eat 'em like a crunchy apple, on some level, it's denial of another summer season done gone.
photo: Nancy Vienneau. This lush creation is by food blogger, creative chef and new cool friend Nancy Vienneau, made in honor of Nashville's annual festival celebrating the southern bounty of tomatoes–"a uniter, not a divider." I've also added Nancy's blog to my short list of blog reads: Good Food Matters.
it was a tough season; my tomatoes were smallish too, but nonetheless, we all know
Tennessee tomatoes are The Best.
a lovely ode to that juicy red jewel; thanks for letting me be a part!
My 85 year old aunt says that if you take all those green ones off the vine and lay them between layers of newspaper–they cannot be touching each other–they will ripen. I thought it sounded crazy, but did it a couple of years ago (when I was still growing a garden) and had wonderful ripe tomato slices on my table at Thanksgiving! I promise.
*wipes away a tear, pours one out for my tomato homies*
I have a late-blooming (heh) explosion of cherry tomato plants that just popped up willy-nilly without any encouragement (or actual PLANTING) by me next to my hose faucet. They are taunting me with a profusion of yellow blooms, but I’m refusing to be seduced. We both know they’re not gonna put out.
Dang flood.
Okay. I see how it is. It’s not about politics, religion, arts or other issues. Folks want to read about a humble edible. ONe that cannot make up its’ mind what it is and goes both ways–“a uniter, not a divider.”
Ya’ll, check out Tori’s blog: http//babybloomr.com She’s a stitch.
And check out Gregory’s FB page. He’s also the dude that married us off: http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gregory-Fishers-Treat-Yourself-To-Your-Best/130906136950805?ref=ts
And you already know about Nancy: http://www.NancyVienneau.com